Running A Cemetery in North America - Chapter 46: White Sunday the Eighth

In a world where might was magic, it was a crime to be a noble and magicless. And for this crime, the punishment was death.I grew up frail, bullied by my older siblings, but I thought I could finally turn things around on my sixteenth birthday, when as a noble I was supposed to awaken my magical abilities. The awakening orb, however, turned grey—and condemned me a dud.My father, a duke, could not believe he had fathered such a pathetic specimen. Calling me cursed, he ordered my death and had me thrown into a raging river.I hit the water hard. For a moment I lost consciousness, certain I would never wake again.But some time later, I opened my eyes to the agony of drowning, my body battered by the current. In front of me floated a curious blue sheet of light.[Base Trait: Deathless Acquired][Condition met: You have experienced death.][You can sustain injury, drowning, burning, poisoning, and all forms of bodily destruction—but you will not die. Pain and damage will persist until fully healed.]Thus began my journey—gaining outrageous traits from the suffering that seemed determined to follow me wherever I went.

Paju, the city of hope, peace and madness.And the tale of a mage trapped in a bizarre world.“In his house at R’lyeh, dead Cthulhu waits dreaming.”

”When I tell you to proceed with Plan A, you can’t just ignore it and go with Plan B,” said the king.

I lived like any ordinary person when a stranger suddenly approached me, “You are… a hero.”